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Oral fixation
Oct. 17th, 2007 10:07 amI'm orally fixated. Part of this includes obsessively making sure my mouth is as hygienic as a human bacteria-generating orifice can be. I brush my teeth, floss, gargle, and use mouthwash a lot. As in several times a day, and by 'several', I mean roughly 8. I went shopping on Monday, and forgot to buy mouthwash, which lead to me running out yesterday. I had some at work, so I figured I didn't have to call in late to go buy some - I just wouldn't talk to anyone or open my mouth until I could fill it with burny mintyness and assure myself of not having morning breath.
Of course, Fate wouldn't allow that to happen.
I walk in the door, smile and wave to people and make a bee line for my desk. Five feet from the goal, I get cornered by a coworker I swear has aspbergers. She's the office troll, hiding in her cubicle, overhung by a swirling black cloud of misanthropic curmudgeonliness. Doesn't talk to people unless she has something extremely negative or self pitying to say. She likes anime, which in and of itself isn't reason for me to banish her from existence, but she likes Sailor Moon, which is. She's also more than middle aged and insists on dressing in cutesy little Sailor Moon blouses and Winnie the Pooh smocks. This disturbs me. At some point, when I was new here, I made the mistake of mentioning that I've been to Japan and used to speak fairly fluent Japanese, and have been known to watch VERY SELECTIVE anime shows. This has lead to her cornering me in my cubicle, following me into the breakroom, and standing outside my stall in the bathroom, talking to me about her favourite voice actor. Whose name she won't divulge, and when I asked, she shot me a very dirty and suspicious look, as though he was her little secret that she wanted to keep all to herself. Also, her teeth are all broken and discoloured, so any time she opens her mouth, I mentally whimper and try to look anywhere else.
She corners me, and starts babbling about a new VCD she got, of some American movie that had a Japanese dub with her favourite voice actor in it. I nod and make monosyllable noises, not opening my mouth. I also keep trying to get to my desk, but she literally keeps stepping in front of me, not letting me get past her. Eventually, my lack of vocal response registers on her and she asks what's wrong. I gesture at my desk and try to step around her, only to again be cockblocked. By now, I'm trying not to crawl out of my skin as I imagine my mouth slowly filling with horrid little tentacled bacteria. I can almost hear them buzzing, "Ha ha ha! The mouth! It's ouuuuurrrs!" I gesture at my desk and once again try to step around her and she puts her hand on my arm to stop me. My brain instantly came up with about seventy five ways to kill her with common office instruments.
I finally do the hand-over-mouth thing and say, "I need my mouthwash." I mentally panic, because I've just given the bacteria oxygen. I imagine them breathing deep and replicating faster.
My coworker leans in, pulls my hand away, and sniffs near my mouth. I backpedal, clapping my hands over my mouth. She dismisses it as, "Oh, you don't need to worry. Your breath isn't bad." This is the grossest thing anyone's done to me in a really long time. I'm horrified on so many levels by this. I try really hard not to scream, mostly because I want to suffocate the bacteria, not give them more oxygen. Finding an opening, I dash past her to my desk and grab the Listerine, chugging it back like a heroin junkie sucks back methadone. In the theater of my mind, the bacteria are washed in a tidal wave of acid, dissolving with little screams of anguish. I walk back down the hall toward the bathroom, swishing happily, the balance of the universe once again restored.
She followed me, continuing to talk. Once I'd assured myself that the bacteria were dead, Jim, really dead, with no possibility of resurrecting as little decaying bacterial zombies, I shot her a glare and said, "Don't. Ever. Do. That. To. Me. AGAIN!" She gave me a blank stare and said, "Do what?"
I didn't kill her. God wept.
Of course, Fate wouldn't allow that to happen.
I walk in the door, smile and wave to people and make a bee line for my desk. Five feet from the goal, I get cornered by a coworker I swear has aspbergers. She's the office troll, hiding in her cubicle, overhung by a swirling black cloud of misanthropic curmudgeonliness. Doesn't talk to people unless she has something extremely negative or self pitying to say. She likes anime, which in and of itself isn't reason for me to banish her from existence, but she likes Sailor Moon, which is. She's also more than middle aged and insists on dressing in cutesy little Sailor Moon blouses and Winnie the Pooh smocks. This disturbs me. At some point, when I was new here, I made the mistake of mentioning that I've been to Japan and used to speak fairly fluent Japanese, and have been known to watch VERY SELECTIVE anime shows. This has lead to her cornering me in my cubicle, following me into the breakroom, and standing outside my stall in the bathroom, talking to me about her favourite voice actor. Whose name she won't divulge, and when I asked, she shot me a very dirty and suspicious look, as though he was her little secret that she wanted to keep all to herself. Also, her teeth are all broken and discoloured, so any time she opens her mouth, I mentally whimper and try to look anywhere else.
She corners me, and starts babbling about a new VCD she got, of some American movie that had a Japanese dub with her favourite voice actor in it. I nod and make monosyllable noises, not opening my mouth. I also keep trying to get to my desk, but she literally keeps stepping in front of me, not letting me get past her. Eventually, my lack of vocal response registers on her and she asks what's wrong. I gesture at my desk and try to step around her, only to again be cockblocked. By now, I'm trying not to crawl out of my skin as I imagine my mouth slowly filling with horrid little tentacled bacteria. I can almost hear them buzzing, "Ha ha ha! The mouth! It's ouuuuurrrs!" I gesture at my desk and once again try to step around her and she puts her hand on my arm to stop me. My brain instantly came up with about seventy five ways to kill her with common office instruments.
I finally do the hand-over-mouth thing and say, "I need my mouthwash." I mentally panic, because I've just given the bacteria oxygen. I imagine them breathing deep and replicating faster.
My coworker leans in, pulls my hand away, and sniffs near my mouth. I backpedal, clapping my hands over my mouth. She dismisses it as, "Oh, you don't need to worry. Your breath isn't bad." This is the grossest thing anyone's done to me in a really long time. I'm horrified on so many levels by this. I try really hard not to scream, mostly because I want to suffocate the bacteria, not give them more oxygen. Finding an opening, I dash past her to my desk and grab the Listerine, chugging it back like a heroin junkie sucks back methadone. In the theater of my mind, the bacteria are washed in a tidal wave of acid, dissolving with little screams of anguish. I walk back down the hall toward the bathroom, swishing happily, the balance of the universe once again restored.
She followed me, continuing to talk. Once I'd assured myself that the bacteria were dead, Jim, really dead, with no possibility of resurrecting as little decaying bacterial zombies, I shot her a glare and said, "Don't. Ever. Do. That. To. Me. AGAIN!" She gave me a blank stare and said, "Do what?"
I didn't kill her. God wept.
